Sing, Dance, Laugh, and Play with the SF Neofuturists

Most theater plays out pretty much the same way: a dimming of lights, a rustling of programs, red velvet curtains drawing back, and, perhaps, a shameful mid-show crawl over a fellow theatergoer for a bathroom break. 

Not so a Neofuturist performance, where convention is crumpled into a ball and then (probably) thrown at the audience. This week's 99 Wrench Market was a special all Asian American edition of their recurring show, the Infinite Wrench. Performances centered on questions of race, belonging, family, absurdity, and vulnerability - all in the Neofuturists' unique ‘non-illusory’ style. 

 “We are not going to do any pretending tonight,” said cast member Topher Lin at the beginning of the show, “we are who we are, we are where we are, and we’re doing what we’re doing.” 

What they were doing was performing 30 ‘microplays' - each around 2 minutes long - in a race against a 60-minute timer. Hung across the stage, clipped to a clothing line, were thirty pieces of paper marked from one to thirty. Each audience member got a menu, which listed the titles of thirty possible plays next to a corresponding number. 

The show began when an audience member yelled the number of a title that intrigued them. The Neofuturists had to be ready to perform any of the thirty plays at a moment's notice.

By the end of the hour, it was clear that this unique format was no gimmick. The plays themselves are beautifully conceptualized and well performed, but the speed, chaos, and audience participation made them transcendent. 

Whilst I picked between ‘Our own tiny Salesforce Tower’, ‘For a time, I thought you would be mine. Or maybe that is what I dreamt up myself, and ‘ASMars, bimbo edition’ someone had already shouted out #5, and the show had begun. 

#5, as it turned out, corresponded to ‘I just don’t get Haruki Murakami’. It featured an original song about, you guessed it, the confusion of reading a Murakami novel. There’s a man in a bunny suit, a cat, a seductive woman, cannibalism, and Topher Lin center stage, attempting to make sense of it all. Over a fast-paced repetitive beat, he repeatedly begs the question: “Why am I reading this Murakami novel?” 

Each time a number drew to a close, a new order was placed, a new number was yanked off the clothes line, and the Neofuturists careened into their next performance. 

When #11 was called, someone immediately dumped a bucket of Legos on the floor, setting the stage for ‘Not business, just personal’. A job interviewer calls someone an ‘open kimono’. Is that racist? Wonders the interviewee. It seems racist. Do I say something? Is it appropriate to say anything? Does this guy deserve to be punished for a comment he probably doesn’t realize is problematic? Meanwhile, a kimono-clad figure gingerly walks across the Legos. 

The performers never reached a final verdict on the question of the open kimono. They also never quite managed to get all the Legos off the stage, and so had to contend with a few stragglers underfoot throughout the remainder of the performance. It felt deliberate, even if it wasn’t: a reminder of loose ends that remain even as life moves past them. 

#16, ‘415-200-1548’, was another original song, this one a jaunty tune about the cast members’ favorite phone number: the Rapid Response hotline run by the Deportation Defense & Legal Advocacy Program. They sang with big smiles on their faces and encouraged the audience to chime in. By the end, the whole room had joined in. The microplay had risen above the sum of its parts into what felt like an authentic display of solidarity. It made my heart soar. 

I had two personal favorite plays. 

The first: #19, ‘Imposter Syndrome’. The Neofuturists asked volunteers who love dancing to join them on stage. A man wearing a vest and spectacles answered the call. He crawled over his neighbors and then shuffled awkwardly onto the stage. A cast member pretended to teach him the dance moves, and the man clumsily attempted a few practice rounds. 

The whole thing turned out to be a classic misdirection. As the music picked up, he delivered a performance so full of energy and verve that I turned to the stranger sitting next to me and exclaimed, “NO WAYYYY!”. 

The second: #9, ‘For a time, I thought you would be mine. Or maybe that is what I dreamt up myself’. A rectangular box was hauled out and placed in the middle of the stage. A melancholy synth pop tune started playing as 3 cast members used comically large sticks to draw a large white cutout of a man from inside. Meanwhile, a white orb slowly floated into view. The cutout reached out its long, spindly arms and cradled it to its chest.

As the music faded out, the orb escaped the cutout's grasp. I’ve never seen paper look quite so forlorn. 

The Neofuturists still had 5 and a half microplays left to perform when their buzzer went off. They didn’t perform for a moment longer, but worry not! The plays they don’t have time for are rolled over into the next week’s show, and plays from next week’s show are rolled over into the week after that. Round and round goes the ‘infinite wrench’ that the show is named for. 

This special Asian American edition of The Infinite Wrench thrived as a direct result of the Neofuturists' refusal to promise perfection. They emerged abruptly, awkwardly, and sometimes tenderly, a little something like real life. It made for a raw, honest performance - and we didn’t just sit back and watch its stories unfold either. We laughed, shouted, sang, and lived them. 

The Infinite Wrench runs every Friday and Saturday, with tickets on a sliding scale. They additionally offer discounts for larger groups, and reserve a few tickets for walk-ups (they charge $13 + the roll of a 6-sided die for these). When they sell out - and they do - they order pizza for everyone. Go! Throw caution to the wind, get up on stage, and dance. 

For more: sfneofuturists.org